A Short Love Story

Marice

She reached the village by nightfall, exhausted, hungry, and dirty from the hard ride.

The horse, unable to go any further, came to a halt just inside the fence. Marice slid off of the beast and fell to a heap on the ground, legs too sore to stand on.

At the commotion of horse and rider entering at a fast pace, villagers hurried out of their sleepy homes and gathered around them both. Voices blended together, making it impossible for Marice to focus on any one person.

Finally, arms lifted her off of the ground and helped her to her small home and into her bed. A thick blanket was draped over her by gentle hands. Someone else stoked the fire.

Marice watched as embers floated atop the fire, feeling herself start to lose consciousness. But her eyes were fixed on the embers and couldn't seem to close, so she just watched.

Her thoughts had not left Patton once since he had sent her back here to the village. 'Please, come home to me', she pleaded silently as her exhaustion finally won out.

For three days she echoed this plea again and again.

She tried to complete household chores, but they seemed so menial and unimportant compared to needing to know that Patton was still alive and was on his journey home right now.

'Please, just come home to me.'

Early on the fourth morning, a shout rang out in the village, drawing villagers away from their tasks.

Marice hurried out of her house, praying with everything in her that it was the soldiers returning from battle.

She received her wish.

Men of all ages, tired, dirty, and wounded, came stumbling through the small town. Some carried men who were too wounded to walk or who were dead between them.

She searched the faces of the men walking, looking for his blue eyes framed by his blonde lashes. But his face was nowhere to be seen.

She began frantically looking among the wounded on the crudely made stretchers. But he was not to be found there, either.

Someone jostled her from behind and she spun around, expecting to find Patton standing behind her, hoping against all hope she had simply overlooked him in the crowd.

But it was another man, helping to carry a stretcher. "Excuse me, Miss Marice", he mumbled wearily as he walked by.

"Pardon me", she replied softly. She glanced down at the covered form between the two men.

The arm of the dead man had slipped from beneath the covering and hung limp.

Marice immediately felt bile rise in her throat. It was Patton; she was sure of it. He was wearing the bracelet she had given him so long ago: a leather cord with a single blue bead on it. To match his eyes, she had told him shyly that day by the river.

She had been so afraid that he would laugh at her and tell her that he would never wear a piece of jewelry, but he had promptly put it on, despite her assurances that he didn't have to wear it. As far as she knew, he had not taken it off once.

A sob escaped her lips. "Stop! Please!" The two men carrying him paused a short distance away and waited for her to walk over to them before setting the stretcher down.

Tentatively, she started to pull the blanket back.

"Miss Marice, I don't think you should do that", the man protested.

"Please", she said quietly. "I need to."

Both men shared a glance before stepping back respectfully.

She pulled the blanket back, fully uncovering Patton's face. It was him.

Marice's hands flew to her mouth to stop the cries from escaping her lips, but to no avail. The sobs came faster and racked her body harder than each previous one. The world around her became blurry as her eyes flooded with tears.

For the second time since three days before, she collapsed to the ground; this time in grief, not exhaustion.

For the second time since three days before, hands helped her to her feet and back to her home.

Patton was dead.

In the days to come, Marice became less and less responsive to those around her. Friends and neighbors were constantly dropping by, occasionally bringing with them small bowls of stew or other soups.

Marice's sister, Gloria, had moved in to take care of the grief stricken older girl. Through the day, Gloria quietly did little bits of cleaning, but since Marice hardly slept anymore, she wasn't bothered by the noise.

From the moment she had seen Patton dead on that stretcher, the rest of the world had become dead to her as well. She could no longer see the world, even though her eyes were very much open. All she could see were the moments spent with Patton. They would play in her mind again and again until she almost believed she wasn't remembering them, but was actually there. Until she almost believed that Patton's death was the nightmare.

But then unseen hands would pull her away from hope and drag her back into the awful truth, to which she would immediately dissolve into more tears.

It soon became painfully obvious to Gloria and the other villagers that Marice's body was shutting down little by little. She refused to eat or drink much, she barely slept; for, when she did, she would wake up screaming from a nightmare; and more than once, her eyes had nearly swollen shut from crying so much. She did not speak and mostly stayed in her bed.

Gloria knew that her sister was dying and that it wasn't from not eating or sleep deprivation. So it was no surprise to her when, three weeks after Patton had been killed, Marice's body finally shut down completely and died.

When she was asked about her sister's death, Gloria would tell them what had killed Marice: not lack of food, not lack of sleep, not her lack of movement, but her broken heart.